Suffocating Thoughts
by Snow-White-Chaos
Summary: <html><head></head>Something always seems to trap him, something that's deep in his heart and his mind...</html>


**Title:** Suffocating Thoughts  
><strong>AuthorArtist:** rimabelz  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>  
><strong>Prompt:<strong> Giotto-Escape; "He couldn't take it anymore."  
><strong>Word count:<strong> 1507  
><strong>Summary:<strong> In the end,

"_He's the Vongola Primo, huh?" _

"_Is he even as strong as people say he is? A mafia boss with a soft heart like his won't get that far."_

"_Shh…Don't say anything anymore."_

_Those people…are everywhere, talking about me, talking about how I'm not fit to be what they expect. I wield all of this power, yet they hate me for who I am. _

The sky was filled with clouds, blotches of ink seeming to spread on the white clouds in seconds, making them dark and gloomy. The Vongola Primo sat there by the window in his study, watching the slight drizzle that fell from the sky. He slowly took his hand out of his dark cloak and placed his fingers on the window pane, flinching a bit at the coldness of the glass, but in a few seconds, relaxing as if the cold didn't matter to him. A breeze of wind blew from outside and brushed his face with its slight coldness as if to whisper words that stung his ear in biting frost.

"_Can you find your place in this…world of yours?"_

"_You know all about the dirty mafia bosses. They kill and slaughter till they get what they want."_

"_You know…yet you're still-" _

"…Tch…" An ache had then cut into his thoughts. Primo's fingers left the window, his hands beginning to tremble as he clutched his shirt where the pain was spreading from his lungs. His breaths were deep and ragged. He found it hard to breathe and just—

"Nu-fu-fu-fu~ Primo, isn't it?"

Giotto's eyes flashed in pain, and his golden pupils flickering over to the open wooden door of his study. His mist guardian Daemon was leaning against the doorway with a devious smile plastered over his face.

"W…what is it, Daemon?" It was hard for him to speak, even though his breathing became slightly better. He loosened his clutch from his shirt.

"Nu-fu-fu-fu~ To see the Vongola boss in this state…I wonder what those members of the other mafia families would do…Would they feel sympathy, or just kill you on the spot for destroying all of their dreams?"

"Daemon." His voice was now stable, and his breathing managed to go back to normal, but the pain in his chest never loosened its grip. He gazed at his mist guardian, his face an emotionless mask.

"What is it, Primo? fu~fu-fu~"The mist guardian still situated against the doorway, emitting a dark aura as his eyes glinted with evil intent.

"You put those thoughts into my head, didn't you?" Giotto asked firmly, his calm aura wrapping around his words.

A tiny look of surprise passed over Daemon's face. He shrugged it off with a smirk. "So what if I did?"

"Daemon…don't you have those times…when you feel like you could be happy…but something seems to—" A telephone ring interrupts Giotto before he could finish his sentence. Giotto hurriedly shifted from his seat by the window and rushed toward the ringing phone on his desk, covering the long distance within moments with quick and graceful steps. He picked up the phone with utmost grace and listened to the other voices on the line. Upon hearing the voices, he nodded and his lips parted slightly as he mumbled a, "Yes, we'll be there."

Slowly he put the phone back down its rest on the desk. His face was facing pointedly toward the ground as he soaked in the news.

"Daemon. G and the others called. They need our help."

He lifted his face up and looked toward the doorway, expecting Daemon to be there. Instead, the spot where he had been standing was empty, as if no one had ever been there. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of the study and sauntered toward the place his caller spoke of—the place where two mafia families were waging war…

There were abandoned buildings all around; the wind blew fallen pieces of paper from the decayed posters from buildings onto the street where Giotto stood. He pushed back men, burning them with his sky flame. He stood in the middle of the bodies and didn't make a move. _Something's not right…This isn't the first time I fought...Why do these dead bodies…seem…to sicken me?_ "A..Augh. H..How nauseating…" Giotto took his hand and struggled to fight against the pain in his chest that seemed was rapidly distributing throughout him.

"PRIMO!" Someone yelled. A man with brown, greasy tousled hair ran toward Giotto. In his fist was a sharp, jagged knife aimed right for his main target.

Just as Giotto braced for the definite burst of agony that would follow his soon-to-be stabbed heart, a sharp sound pierced the air and the man fell, his knife falling beside him and ending in a simple clink. Giotto glanced behind him and found his fellow right-hand man standing behind him, holding his bow-and-arrow. The red-haired man smirked and then cast his weapon down to his side.

"G…" Giotto was surprised that G was there. His breathing was even, but he still felt sick to his stomach. "I…I thought you w…were on the other side of the city…" Giotto managed to voice out those words.

"Primo! Oi! Are you alright?" G's smirk was soon replaced with a worried frown. He extended his arm to support Giotto if he happened to fall. Giotto, still standing, clutched at his chest.

_It's suffocating…_

Their quiet time was cut short when they heard shouts and footsteps approaching. A group of men staggered toward them, trapping Primo and G in a convenient circle.

"These bastards don't know when to quit," G muttered as a smirk crossed his face. "Time to take action and finish these guys off once and for all." He was about to reach for his weapon before he realized that his hand was occupied with Giotto.

"G…I'm fine. Let's finish them before they can do any more damage…" Giotto brushed away G's hand from his back and stood up straight as if nothing affected him in the slightest.

"Are you sure?" When Giotto nodded, G smirked. "Alright. Let's clean this up." G held his bow-and-arrow with sturdy hands and aimed.

"Ah." Giotto responded, forcing out a soon enough cough that caused a flashing pain. He quickly cringed at the sudden development of it, his teeth instinctively clenched shut to lessen the aching pain.

_I have to ignore this. Overpower it._

Taking both of his hands out of his cloak, he lit them up with his sky flame. The flame flickered more than ever, both colors of gold and orange into a rich color.

His flame fists found their place when they landed a successful jab into the enemy's face, stomach—anywhere they could break bones. Giotto didn't give into cries for mercy. He was different. His thoughts were wandering, his eyes glazed over and his face was expressionless. His arms danced, landing blows on the others as if they were mere insects. Finally, when the circle that had surrounded them dissolved to nothing, his eyes regained that flickering gold. He stood amidst the bodies on the ground and realized, with a sinking feeling, what he had done…

_These men…on the verge of death…by me._

His knees gave in and soon enough he was on the ground, trying to catch his breath.

"Hah…" Giotto's breath came in short pants, his eyes half open as he tried to catch his breath. He then looked up to see G extending his hand outward.

"Need a hand there, Primo?" G asked Giotto, a chuckle eliciting from his throat before it faded off when he saw how pale Giotto was.

Giotto could barely muster any strength to stand up; he felt sick. He knew for a fact that if he stood up, he would just fall back down again.

"Primo? Oi, are you alright? Your face is really pale. Hey!" G went down to his knees and grasped Primo's shoulders, holding him so he could see Giotto's face properly.

"Nothing's wrong, G."Giotto forced a smile to assure his friend, but he knew that G saw right though him.

"Your face is freakin' pale, and you're saying you're _alright_? I can't believe that! You can barely stand up and you're continuing to tell me lies to cover up something!" G still kept his hold on Primo's shoulders and grimaced, showing a face of worry and concern.

Primo shrugged G's hands off his shoulders. "I'm alright. Please, G." The fake smile that was once plastered on his lips quickly faded away as he tried to push G away in annoyance.

"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING WHEN—" G's angry words mixed with angry and frustrating emotions.

"G." Giotto cut off G's words and he turned his back to his right hand man. "Go check on the others. Don't worry about me." He spoke in a firm tone, not wanting to deal with this anymore.

"But you're—" G bit his lip in frustration, not knowing what to do, what to decide. Looking at how much Giotto doesn't want to continue this little brawl, G then hesitated again before nodding reluctantly. "Fine. Just take care of yourself and know your limits, Giotto." Without another word, he rushed off to check on how the others were doing.

"He called me Giotto…Just like…the old times." Giotto mumbled as nostalgia plagued him. He was about to close his eyes for a rest before he heard a mischievous voice next to him.

"Nu-fu-fu-fu~ Resting on the battlefield, Primo? How shameful~" The mist guardian materialized before him, faint wisps of mist surrounded them.

"What is it, Daemon?" Giotto asked in a low voice, not knowing how long he would be able to stand his ground.

"Nothing~ Just watching how the Vongola were doing~ I saw how _you_ were doing—how pitiful~fu-fu-fu~"

Giotto gritted his teeth, ready to say something back before a thought struck him. He wanted to ask, sure or not.

"Those sickening feelings and thoughts— were you the cause of them?"

A smirk flicked across Daemon's face. "Hm…If I say no? ~"

"They were mine?" Primo felt his heart sink in his chest as a realization hit him. The aura of the mafia world was consuming his soul, slowly encasing it into their dark, tempting arms.

Giotto swallowed soundlessly. He could feel the darkness, the poison spreading throughout him…He felt so dirty, so—

"Daemon. Do me a favor, will you?" His breath became short, little pants as he struggled with his next words. "It's a…last order…from your…friend." Giotto smiled sadly before he mumbled a few words to his guardian. Daemon smirked as he pulled away.

"Of course, Primo. Nu-fu-fu-fu~ as long as it's for my benefit as well~"

As soon as he said that, specks of mist gathered together and formed an imprint of a pole, his hands grasped the pole and the mist disappeared leaving a long sleek, silver weapon. As he took steps toward Giotto, Daemon twirled the weapon and soon enough a silver blade could be seen as it appeared out of nowhere  
>_<p>

"_DAEMON!"_

"_YOU BASTARD!" _G yelled as he rushed toward Daemon before two pairs of arms restrained him. He struggled against their grip as angry tears rolled down his face.

"_WHAT DID YOU DO?"_ He tried to push Knuckle and Lampo away, only to flail against the two with outmatched strength. _"LET ME AT HIM!"_ he shouted, launching himself at Daemon with the intent to kill.

"What have you done, Daemon? Do you not know the consequences of your actions de goazru?" Asari asked, holding back his own anger but speaking in a serene tone as to not give G a reason to smash Daemon's face in.

Daemon shrugged, trying to suppress the cruel smirk that threatened to overtake his stoic face. "It's what you see. Primo's dead. His body here is enough evidence, isn't it?" The corner of his lips twitched upwards. "I've rid Vongola of its weak boss. I've actually done some good~" Daemon spoke in a taunting tone, baiting them. G and the others flinched at his words. Daemon simply stood with a confident smirk.

_Only fools would let their guard down to a traitor~ Nu-fu-fu-fu~ _

For a moment, all was silent—the only sounds that were heard were the crackling fires on the scattered debris.

G held Daemon's gaze, staring him down with brutally hateful eyes before he tore his arms away from Knuckle's and Lampo's hold and stalked off, leaving everyone to stare at his back.

One by one, they turned and followed G, a few of them stopping to take a glance at the grisly corpse of their friend before they exited.

After everyone had cleared from the scene, Daemon silently flicked open the gold Vongola-engraved pocket watch, that was given to him as a gift. He traced the tiny words on the cover, an oath that stated an enteral bond of friendship. An image of the golden-haired boy flashed through his mind before he hastily flicked the cover shut and let his body vaporize into mist.

Far away from the battle field, a mysterious figure with a black cloak surrounding him trudged away slowly, his soft footsteps barely making a sound against the cold, hard ground.

"_I'm sorry. G, everyone; I couldn't take it anymore."_


End file.
